


Serenity, Security, Choosing

by outsquatchin94



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Choices, F/M, Post MSIV, Season 11 Spoilers, Spoilers, who am i fucking kidding spoilers for everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 08:30:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14374896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outsquatchin94/pseuds/outsquatchin94
Summary: Despite her best efforts, she has days when she can’t seem to shake the worry that follows her like a low-hanging cloud. She can fake it through the morning, through reading medical files for hospital consults, through unpacking and organizing clothes for the baby (carefully multicolor in a variety of soft fabrics), through pulling weeds and trimming back flowers around the front porch. But at the end of the day, when dinner is done and everything is put away, she finds herself at a loss. She feels like an anti-depressant commercial, one of those with some ridiculous graphic that follows the people around, trying to convey the web of dark feelings around them.





	Serenity, Security, Choosing

Scully tries her hardest not to think of all the ways this could fall apart. With every doctor’s visit and every day that passes, she feels more certain of her place in the universe and the hope that maybe this will all work out. 

Despite her best efforts, she has days when she can’t seem to shake the worry that follows her like a low-hanging cloud. She can fake it through the morning, through reading medical files for hospital consults, through unpacking and organizing clothes for the baby (carefully multicolor in a variety of soft fabrics), through pulling weeds and trimming back flowers around the front porch. But at the end of the day, when dinner is done and everything is put away, she finds herself at a loss. She feels like an anti-depressant commercial, one of those with some ridiculous graphic that follows the people around, trying to convey the web of dark feelings around them. Scully isn’t oblivious, she knows that Mulder has also been struggling. She’s honestly sort of impressed that they’re handling it as well as they are. The baby has given them both a sense of purpose, something to strive for in this new order wasteland. 

Mulder always meditates after dinner, something she chuckles at but privately commends him for. It seems to be helping, and she would often give so much for any kind of serenity. Tonight, with the dishes dripping softly in the drying rack and the counters wiped down, she moves slowly into the living room and sinks onto the sofa. Mulder’s old Navajo patterned blanket is at one end, and she draws it over her legs where she’s curled up into a corner. Lately she’s started worrying about things. Things like what if she’s too old for this, what if they’re too old for this. What if something happens to her during the pregnancy or while the baby is still very young? What if something happens to Mulder? What if something happens to either of them and they can’t get to each other? What if someone doesn’t trust that they are the parents to this baby? She fingers her necklace gently, the worn gold-plating on the cross warm beneath her fingers.

Mulder comes in and finds her frozen there, caught in a web of all her indecisions and doubts. He quietly sits next to her and slides her legs over his so that he can massage her feet. 

“What’s wrong, Scully?” His murmured question pulls her back from her reverie. “I know you’ve been worrying. Can’t hide that.” (The ‘not from me’ goes unsaid.)

“I just—” Scully bites her lip. “I just worry… I’ve been worrying that something will happen. I’ve been worrying that something will happen to one of us. Something will happen with me, with the baby. That maybe we won’t have access—”

“Scully…” he doesn’t quite know what to say. “This will all work out.”

“Oh, Mulder.” She looks at him, and this time she is the one who wants to believe. She wants to believe in the fragile beauty of this family. They’ve tried so many times, so many different ways, and she wants with all her heart to believe that this time will work (she thinks perhaps she is out of more times, more chances at this). “But we’re not— what if they won’t let you in if something happens, because we’re not married. Or what if you get hurt, or sick, or—”

“Aren’t we married?” There’s something close to hurt in his tone, but also the same steady sense of strength he always has for her. “Perhaps we haven’t properly been together, but aren’t we?”

Scully takes one of his hands and holds on tightly. 

“I’m yours in every way that matters, I know that much.” She looks resolutely at their hands, unable to meet his eyes. He has generally been the more emotional one, over the years, but some part of her wants this more than she can express. (Some part of her has been chasing this since she tried to find stability with Daniel all those years and over half a lifetime ago.) It's not as if she's naive enough to think that this will magically make her doubts disappear. But she wants this more than she knows how to say. She takes a deep breath and steadies herself against tears that are suddenly filling her eyes.

“Scully, as far as I’m concerned, we’re married. But if it really makes a difference, we can go get rings tomorrow.” His voice is soft, but he’s never been more sure of anything. 

She looks up at him, her eyes shining—both with joy and unshed tears (and, Mulder thinks, isn’t that what every fiancée should look like, at least in every cliché he can think of). She just nods at him, a few tears spilling over her cheeks.

“Please.” Is all she can bring herself to say. Mulder opens his arms and she scoots forward until she’s properly in his lap, and he wraps himself around her.

“Nothing will happen, Scully, I promise. But I confess, I do want to see my ring on your finger.” He presses a kiss to her hair and she curls further into his warm shoulder, the soft cotton of his t-shirt comfortable and familiar beneath her cheek. One of his hands finds its way down to her stomach, and he carefully caresses the growing swell of her belly. Her hand closes over his for a moment, before he wraps both arms tightly around her again and sways them gently from side to side.

The next day they go ring shopping and choose a matching set of titanium bands. They choose to get them inlaid, each with the other’s birthstone, and at the last minute Mulder whispers something to the jeweler. Scully misses whatever he says, too busy gazing at the titanium band set with a small diamond, flanked by small lapis lazuli stones. Mulder had made her sit to the side while he searched through the rows of rings, looking for just the right one. He finally came over, hands behind his back, to drop to one knee and present her with this choice. Unfortunately it will have to be resized. (Her hands may have gotten a bit bonier than her old ring size.) 

She has the barest, briefest flash of regret that they didn’t manage to make this happen twenty years ago. She can almost see the plain gold band she would have chosen for herself back then. And she knows Mulder would have gotten the matching one. But then the light glints off the diamond, and she smiles. Their lives are so different than what they used to be, but she wouldn’t give this up for anything. She slides the ring off and hands it to the sales assistant, who puts it on the tray with their other rings. Mulder’s arm comes around her shoulders and she leans into him gratefully. She has no words to express her joy at this, nor does she have words for the sense of peace it brings her. She might have laughed at herself in the past, for the security the belief in a simple peace of metal and a signed peace of paper can bring, but here she is (and here they are). (She can only guess what the shop assistants think of them.)

After they’ve left the shop, his hand at the small of her back, he gives her a long searching look and seems satisfied with what he sees.

Two weeks later, Mulder seems purposefully vague when he says he’s running an errand, and he comes home with a small bag from the jeweler’s shop. He gets down on one knee all over again, as ridiculous as ever, in front of their overstuffed sofa, where she’s wrapped in his old blanket, and opens the box. She takes the ring and has to pause for a moment when she sees there’s writing inside. 

It says simply, “always choosing you.” She feels herself starting to cry, so she quickly slips the ring on and slides off the couch to hug him tightly. 

“I will, you know,” she whispers. “I will always choose you.” 

**Author's Note:**

> This may be part of a collection of short stories following them after the series. 
> 
> Apologies for any errors. It's late and (as always) I am sans a beta. I'll come back and edit later, promise!


End file.
